I'm a seeker,
that's what the ink blots say.
I look for patterns
in the cracks on the sidewalk.
I read my bible in the dark corners
trying to find purpose,
hiding my shame.
I look inside trash cans
for left overs
and disregarded secrets.
and I try to find a mystery
in the smiles.
Maybe an untold story
that was never good enough
to tell over a late night dinner.
Like the time you killed
and after all these years
you still feel guilty.
Or the time you put
change inside of a pizza box
before you threw it out
just in case someone rummaging
through the trash found it.
And the irony hurts
because life has a terrible sense of humor.
I hold the crucifix in my left hand
The hand that's been mutilated
Nerve damage done
It rests easy in this hand
peacefully in this hand
"it's not your fault."
"it's not your fault."
Yes it is
Yes it is
My senses remember it
better than my
and maybe it's the memory
of you that's lead me back
to this place. Where my skin
shakes like small coils of wire
shot with electricity
but it's a nervous,
nerve reflex and not proof
that I'm alive
my limbs hanging like
the branches of a
a cool breeze
I always felt new with
winter. Ice beneath
my feet. Itchy woollen
jumpers and the smell
but you stole my seasons
the way you stole my
heart and now a cold
breeze sends me into
dirty footprints on
dead ground. Black
coats and boots
and the smell of your
body, missing, and
the sound of my neck,
caressed by a white scarf,
To my dear —,
It's been cold for the past few days,
it's been dark a little longer,
and the sun takes it's time to rise.
The days are now slowly changing,
summer to fall,
Fall to winter,
I can't help but notice that I too am changing with it.
My heart is slowly freezing over,
my thoughts stay dark a little longer
and I to take my time to rise in the mornings, because I know you won't be there.
Everyone tells me to move on, even you.
The hardest thing that I heard you say is
"I'm not your girl anymore".
It was like a knife to the heart.
I still care endlessly
and my heart still has the same love for you.
I sit far, far away, miles apart but yet
I hope you know you are never alone.
I keep watch over you,
that my guardian angel watches over you too.
You won't ever know that I was there,
checking up on you everyday,
for as far as you know... I truly disappeared.
I'm not gonna pretend that you're alone in the nights,
I know he's there.
You're probably hanging out and making nice
and he has the nerve to ask my girl to dance
and you'll say yes,
but in my head you were always mine
and that's how I'll remember you.
As mine and me as yours.
I won't let go,
even if you have,
I'll keep the faith for the both of us right now
and if you don't come back like you're supposed to, well then..
You may be out of sight,
out of my path now
but you are never out of my mind.
I'm a man of my word and for as long as I can,
I'll make sure you are safe and sound
give you the lights,
all the lights to guide you home.
I tried to call you yesterday,
I thought it was finally time
But all I got was your voicemail
Told me to leave a message at the beep
Which sounded more like a chime
I didn’t have the nerve to leave a message
I didn’t know what to say that would make it all okay
Do I tell you that you are always on my mind
Do I tell you that I made a huge mistake?
Do I tell you that it wasn’t what you thought it was
Tell you it wasn’t love, just lust
I’m sorry doesn’t cut it
And I don’t have the courage to leave a message
It’s been a very long month
I’ve waited long enough
I want to prove to you how much I love you
I know that I fucked up
I’ll make it up to you I swear
But for the voicemail I’m just not prepared
I called you again and you picked up the phone
I had gotten so close to the last dial tone
I almost cried when I heard your voice
Even though I could tell that you were annoyed.
Please just listen, I love you,
Give me a second chance
I’ll never do it again
Please just listen, I love you
I love you
Best known for writing such words it scrawled in many languages inked out of hearts of
Poet’s politician’s clergy investment of mind and soul glided over parchment it would open
Doors of wood hinges were heard to creak when wise words were spoken and angry kings could
No longer hold freedom back after words of truth shined forth with wisdom and would not
Be denied by personnel greed and cruelty the very breath of man was infused in such
Documents that had veracity that was uncommon in nature the heights were noted the
Indignity and stupidity and rigidness that would in slave people was forever snapped no bonds
Could hold after the quill responded to such ignorance pleasantries were subscribed to by
Mortal hand that reached beyond uncertainty and touched divine sensibility it wrote on
Personnel levels in the case of widowhood when the dark curtains of loss were drawn and no
Light shined into the soul of the bereaved in the darkness a sister friend’s face slowly emerged
From the murky dark waters that sorrows flood brought in her embrace and understanding the
Quill wrote of a slow growing power a bridge was constructed over the river of nerve and
Exhausting pangs longing for the beloved that was departed but through this single individual
The stitching of healing began its most needed work through another the sharing of faith and
Trust would create a heart that no longer was held in gloom but pierced the heavenly blue
Where the fair one stood in garments of gleaming white of mist and tranquil portions no longer
Was fate alone in play but joyous music the flute the horn the violin drew a picture of a country
Lane there love was once again completed harmony over arched death itself and it was all
Viewed under the greatest banner men ever knew and it is friendship the telling and knowing of
Tears and a shoulder to cry on it gives way to building blocks that create a different life
Widowhood made agreeable while the wound still remains it is a course changer the injured
Now arises a heroine of quiet silent grace a source of strength a viable counter weight to grief’s
Unbearable character the quill surmounts the littleness in people stories are in abundance that
Show both sides of the issue the abyss that selfishness brings but what heights can be reached
By serving others instead of self weights the quill lifts effortlessly weighty matters the line we
Have come through many slings and arrows fits twists and turns the quill runs before as a lion
Tamer it cracks a whip trouble is quickly vanquished there is writing everywhere the quill will
Guide to so many existing ideas that create formidable answers but with this in play the
Intangible restless pull of something beyond reason that must be recognized and dealt with all
Success and pleasure will melt away as the pull of importance that will not give way most of us
Know the undeniable truth that over all that is said above a greater quill writes in perfect
Accord without error not of fleshly hand but spirit that moved on men to state His wishes and
Commands without this writing no one can know true happiness or fulfillment outside of this
Most extraordinary compelling truth but what record there is of such sadness because of failure
To listen to a love story of tremendous drama all pertaining to the highest highs and the lowest
Lows and of one by love just won’t give up on the ones He holds so dear it comes down to this
Reality it still stands true there is a Hell to shun and a heaven to win through all the swirling
Down through time this great weight rests on us all what we decide will be flames or bliss abide
With him who hates you completely or the one who loved you to the point of dying in agony
You are the only one who can complete the story the quill writes love and mercy sadly so many
Show it has little effect the quill writes on sin is death those who practice it will surely die this is
The second death the lake of fire
You pay attention when I speak of
sunrises and sunsets
that soft caress
All the simple and complex things of beauty that I hope you all get the opportunity to experience
I find these topics tiresome when it comes to trying to convey truly deep experiences
There is clearly
passion in pain
I feel most
When I dig deep and
pinch the painful nerve
It reminds me that I am strong
It reminds me that I will survive
It reminds me that I will strengthen
My passion is in my pain
of which you've supplied an infinite amount
Anne crutches herself into Sister Paul's office. The nun is sitting in a chair behind a desk, hands folded on the table, eyes stern, lips a straight line. Anne stands before the desk, taking in the huge crucifix on the wall above the nun's head.
- You can sit down, Anne, the nun says, eyeing her firmly, watching the 12 year old girl, as she manoeuvres herself with one crutch onto the chair.
Anne sits down and puts the crutch beside the chair and pulls her red skirt over her knees, covering the stump where her leg had been.
- Do you know why you're here? Sister Paul asks, unfolding her hands, and laying them flat on the desk top.
- No, Anne says, looking at the nun's black and white headdress, the thin features of the face, hawk-like nose.
-There has been complaints made about you, the nun says. She watches as the girl fidgets in the chair, lifts herself with her hands, back further, on the chair. - Are you not comfortable? She asks.
- No, Anne says, My knickers are too tight.
The nun sighs, looks at the wooden ruler on her desk, wishes she could, but knows she can't.
- Complaints made by other children here and staff members, the nun says, toying with the ruler with her fingers.
-What sort of complaints? Anne asks.
-The worse sort: bad language, insolence, rudeness. It has to stop, Anne, do you understand? The voice sounded like grit poured into a bucket.
Anne fingered at her backside. -Ah, that's better, sorted it out now, she says, putting her hands together in her lap. - I can't recall any rudeness, she says, acting miss innocence, butter wouldn't melt in her mouth, kind of expression and pose.
The nun looks at the girl and inwardly is glad she never married and had children, especially if one had been like this.
- Sister Bridget says you called her a dried up prune, the nun says, looking at the dark hair and eyes of the child, the insolent way she sits and looks.
Anne frowns.- Me? To Sister Bridget?
-Yes, to Sister Bridget, and Sister Mary says, you exposed your bottom to her when she asked you to take your afternoon sleep. The nun looks at the girl's expression, her frown of brow.
- No, not me, Sister Paul, must have been some other kid's backside she'd seen.
-Are you calling these two nuns, liars?
The girl looks at her hands in her lap, raises two fingers upwards, out of the nun's sight.- No, not liars, just mistaken. We all make mistakes, Anne says, we're all human, after all.
Sister Paul's eyes darken, she grips the ruler tighter, pushes her toes to the end of her sandals.
- And some of the children have made complaints, too, the nun says, the words hard as nails from her lips.
-Ah, you know what liars kids can be, Sister. They couldn't tell the truth if it came wrapped in yellow paper saying, TRUTH. She smiles at her wit.
Sister Paul doesn't smile; her lips tighten, her eyes scan the child, if the girl at been at one of the schools, rather than the nursing home, she'd be well on her way to a sound caning.
- I know children, Anne, and liars, the nun says, eyeing the girl firmly, tapping the ruler on her palm. - You are a liar, and I know you. I have read the reports on you before you came. I was reluctant to take you in, but had little choice. You will behave yourself or be expelled from the nursing home. Is that understood?
Anne senses a fart coming on, but holds it in. - Yes, Sister, sorry Sister. It's my leg you see, it gives me pain, and keeps me awake at nights, and I get tired and I get irritable. She puts on a hurt expression.
The nun sits upright and stiff, an expression of dislike etched on her features.
-We are given pain, by God, for a purpose, Sister Paul says, it is a gift we ought to shoulder and bear with gratitude.
-Like haemorrhoids, you mean? Anne says, fiddling with her fingers, a blank look on her face.
- You know what I mean, young lady, pain in general, not in particular. At that moment the nun feels a great urge to inflict pain on the girl sitting in front of her. She can picture it, the whole scene, the satisfaction.
Anne shifts in the chair, steadying herself. - Can I go now?
The nun sits back in the chair, eyes focusing on the girl, her face straight and stiff as a board.- Your leg has been amputated, so how can it give you pain? the nun says, her words pushed from her mouth as if they were sour.
- Nerve endings, they don't realise the fucking legs gone, oops sorry, about that it kind of slipped out while I was engaged in thoughts, Anne says, looking at the nun's reddening face. - Didn't mean to, it's my leg you see, it gets me all uptight, and wound up like a clock, and then ping! Out it comes.
The nun sighs deeply. The word hammers inside her ears and brain. - I won't have such language, do you hear me, not another rude word or expression.
Anne clenches, the cheeks of her buttocks tightly, to hold in the the coming wind. She nods, gives an expression of remorse, allows her eyes to water, takes out a handkerchief from her skirt pocket and wipes her nose. - Sorry about that, don't mean to be such a bad girl, my apologises to all. She wipes her eyes, lets herself go, does her acting bit, slumps her shoulders, weeps softly.
The nun is confused, sits up, feels an urge to go around to the girl and embrace her, say, there, there, dear child, but she doesn't, instead she stares at the girl, at the slumped shoulders, at the dark hair, the sight of neck, and wonders what kind of mother she would have made had she married, would she have coped with the nappies and sickness and foul smells and dressing and undressing a baby and the disturbed nights, and a man touching her, and doing things to her. No, she couldn't have married, nor had a child. She sighs and softens, -OK, Anne, lets say no more about it, and she gets out of the chair and walks around to the child weeping, in the chair, and puts an arm about her, feeling the shallow shakes, the sobs, the sight of the one leg, knowing a stump was beneath the skirt. - There, there, calm down, it is all too much for you after losing your leg, I'll have a word with the children and staff and explain about your pain. She holds the girl close to her breast, feeling her there, the catching of breath, the sobs, the shaking shoulders, and plants a kiss on the girl's black hair and head.
- Sorry, Sister Paul, Anne says, between her acted sobs, sniffing, wiping her nose, feeling the fart go away silently, like sneaky hound, all without sound.
The nun feels her heart open and close. - All right, Anne, you may go and rest your leg or stump, she says, going back to her chair and sitting there, watery eyed.
Anne lifts her head, pushes her hair from her eyes, sniffs and wipes her nose. -Thank you, Sister, you're like a mother to me. She pulls herself up from the chair with the crutch, feels the pain shoot through the stump, rubs it, pulls a face. - I'll go and rest it, she says, soft voiced, sobs held in check, head lowered. She crutches herself from the room slowly, sensing the nun's eyes on her, feeling a sense of fulfilment, like passing an audition, and lets the door click gently behind her.
Sister Paul sits and fingers the ruler. Sniffs and coughs softly. Feeling the girl's shoulders in her hands, the gentlest of touches, the sense, momentarily, of being a mother, compassion, concern, yes, it is there, she says inwardly, maybe I might have made a good mother after all had it been God's wishes, even if I had to put up with a man's touch for the duration. Thank God, she says softly inwardly, for my vocation .
Every fiber of my body is on edge, seething with a burning urge to be alive.
More alive than this repetitive stasis that is Educational routine.
My blood thrums and sings with the desire and yearning for otherworldly adventures.
The uncontainable demanding within my soul that CRAVES more than a dull life set within the confines and standards of a society that has disbanded the thrill seeking pleasure that is and was the old world. Now we have to pay a small fortune in order to obtain a moment where we transcend grey and our colors blast and shoot through the spectrum in solar flare heartbeat pulses of excitement that dulls far too soon.
I want to taste sea salt and raindrops on my lips, grains of sand beneath my feet.
To feel every nerve in my body alight with the spark of something more.
To face the unknown, not in a city nor my home cowering for the remainder of my life.
But to claim my destiny with both hands, clutching my glaive firmly in battle stances while gazing unafraid into the eyes of my nemesis, my enemy. To duel it out on stormy seas, sails billowing, lifelines secured, braced upon the slick decks of pirate ships soaked with rain while torrents of wind lash at my body during a dangerous battle between lovers, demanding my downfall at the hands of nature but instead of falling to it I would prevail and arise. Where lightning cracks across the sky like a golden whip, where thunder roars in agony across the cosmos like Atlas holding up the weight of the sky.
Engaged in the throes of battle while the air is rich and pungent with the scent of steel and the satisfying clang of blades locked in combat. Sword against glaive, antagonist and protagonist.
To battle and seek, to pursue those who dare take whom and what I love. To become MORE. To transcend the fabric of dreams and turn all this into something tangible, to grasp it tight and shower the seeds of dreams into the soil of the real world, and to help it bloom into a reality I've wished for my whole life.
Instead of sitting around writing about how much more I long for. I don't want to be trapped in columns, in places at certain times.
To change the world, to alter my dull fate and the chance to make the stuff of my daydreams and night visions into more than just letters on a page. To whisper and weave the song of those worlds into the fabric of this twisted reality and watch as stardust mends the frayed edges.
Perhaps it is this fate, that my dreams never see the light of the midday sun
that there is not a strong enough conviction nor skilled weaver to bring about the change I long for.
We grow up in a world filled with fairy tales and books filled to the brim with stories to capture our imagination and you cant expect me to suddenly still be content and satisfied with the damnable grayness that is the black and white of our world that will never be filled with color.
And I will be doomed to write out worlds and cultures I can never touch and interact with, never will I be able to grasp the soil of the other worlds and exist within the places I make.
Never will we, of earth, trapped inside dull grey columns ever truly experience freedom.
Not even with our words for we cant even paint the sky a different color other than grey, and the ground beneath our feet will only ever be black. Despite the colors we think we see, they're not the colors we want. Just pale washed out shades of worlds we will never be a part of.
I cannot feel my legs and my mind is numb
I refuse to hear your breath and my mouth is dumb
I can feel your hands, but I am not here
For I have gone away now
Away, to where you cannot find me, the real me
To a place where i finally feel safe, where i can be alive.
I have switched off my soul to survive this place
My flesh is detached and floats away from my face
I can sense your thrusts, in a different world
You may touch my body, not me.
me, that was a long time ago, before
Before the monster that paid a visit at night.
Now look inside me, and see the curdled mother's milk
that courses through my veins.
Twisted molecules of white, distorting purity of thought.
Do you really know how you destroyed my life
With your fatherly tone and that emotional knife
Held up to the heart of a vulnerable girl
Oh, how I wish I were dead
and yet, part of me is, for some of my life is over
Bud plucked, never to bloom the flower of unbridled youth
The black hole of the past pulls me back to those arms
I struggled so hard against those paternal charms
Alas, what chance a girl, who loved daddy so much
Please make my pain go away.
But it won't, deep inside, under granite blocks of hate
Hate for you and hate for me, how did we let this happen?
Grown up now, and struggling to cope
Life seems so hard I often have no hope
it all looks so black, here within my soul
Oh, to wipe the slate clean.
A vehicle of love used as a weapon of betrayal
How sick we all must be!
Half forgotten memories jump out of my mind
Oh how they came, and when you were so kind
Couldn't you see how tormented I was
God help me, for no one else will.
Time does not heal my angst, nor will it ever
You and you, father and friend will you ever comprehend?
Chameleon colours play a role in my life
Artificial boundaries, coping with strife
keep out tomorrow and push away the past
but somehow today sneaks on in.
i have left my body now, detached, flying away to safety
All males left behind, good and bad, partitioned off
Even as I ignore it, the past comes right back
biding its time for a surprise attack
How can I cope with this onslaught of love
So get out of my life right now.
The past, the past, those nights, oh revulsion, oh confusion
Lust, love, like, remorse, pain, a wailing cacophany of lost childhood.
I attempt to embrace a man, maturity found
But I lose my nerve, looks like dangerous ground
An immense struggle for a girl so fragmented
Can I ever become whole?
I wear my clothes, loose around my body
Passion and pain walled off from prying eyes.
Alone, am I sentenced to spend my life alone
for who will throw this dog an intimate bone ?
I need the courage to embrace my shadows
oh please help me face the past.
The light of your affections just cannot reach my soul, deep inside
The escape velocity of my sanity is not enough
I so want to let go, have my feelings reign free
Yet I can't, for the hurt residing deep within me
Imagine, for a minute, the cross that I bear
No wonder, I stay out of sight.
You see, i only feel connected when i am alone and safe
Yet i so yearn to love and be loved, vulnerable.
Finally, today I held you tight and felt your manhood
and it did not remind me of my childhood
Agony past and pain retreated
Will this last forever I ask?
Those boundaries that were so cruelly invaded
by one who said "I love you", left me exposed.
So brick by brick I built up my self esteem
Self confidence at last, but is it all a dream
Open my eyes, will this all fade away
swept off on the winds of self doubt.
One step at a time, out from the abyss, that cave of betrayal
I will hold this moment tightly and treasure it.
Dare I believe in this place called trust?
A handhold hacked in the rockface of my tortured mind
Will it bear the weight of tomorrow's reality?
I can only hope the silver thread that pulls me up
shall guide me forever forward
away from that sickness of him who is left behind.
I am a survivor and I shall reach the summit
of life's possibilities, although I have to tell you
Base camp did not help my journey!
STRAIGHTEN YOUR WRIST, BOY
And stand up straight
You’re a boy,
You’re a man
Now look at me
Don’t let them see those hips shake
You’re not a woman, are you?
He asks with a crooked smile
As if he wasn’t there in the room
When you were wrenched from your mother’s womb
And the light of the world came at you
Fast and furious
And you became
Dizzy and delirious
He watched, from the corner of that tiny room
As your mother bled out and went to her tomb
And left you alone
To face him on your own
He asks if you’re a woman
Even though he was there, and he held you
Thanking God for his son
His little lamb
His pride and his joy
His stars, his moon, and his sun
Yes, he knows what’s between your legs
And he knows what was between hers
He knows her hands were made for washing
And yours were made for working
He knows that your mouth was made for talking
And hers was made for sucking
He knows what you have between your legs
Because he spent nine months praying for it
And he still prays that you’ll grow into it
CLENCH THAT FIST, BOY!
I’m gonna teach you to fight
But not for what’s right
Not for what you believe in
And certainly not for any good reason
I SAID CLENCH THAT FIST, BOY!
They should be afraid of you,
Make them think twice before they play with you
STRAIGHTEN. THAT. WRIST.
Is that a hole between your legs
Or is that a pole between your thighs?
The men in this family are known for their size
But you’re not worthy of the family name
Not with that limp wrist
You should be ashamed
That shirt is too bright
Those pants are too tight
A sissy, a queer, a GIRL
That’s what you look like
I guess I just didn’t raise you right
Now straighten that wrist, boy
He implores and you swear
You can see
Could it be?
In his cold eye,
as lonely as a drop of rain falling from a desert sky
From the man who says
“leave crying to the women”? It
Disgusts you how a man so full of shit
That you could a fill a pool and swim in it
Has the audacity, the nerve, to look you in the eye
With a tear in his eye
This man tried to take away your voice
And shove generations of inherited heteronormative hang-ups
Down your throat until you choked
But it only fueled the anger once it stopped hurting
Like pouring gasoline on the coals to stop them from burning
And the words that couldn’t escape from your chest
Changed course and poured forth from that limp wrist
While your throat choked back the objections he never heard
Those limp wrists typed tirelessly in a document on Microsoft Word
And from those limp wrists came salvation
STRAIGHTEN. THOSE. WRISTS.
Even if you break them to make them stay
You’ll never take them away
And if that keeps you up at night
Just remember it was you who didn’t raise me right